Words to Live By
by MirandaVanderis
Summary: First story ever by me so won't be good probably. Anyway, this is about my OC in the past Soul Eater world. Rated T for predicted violence and rating may change depending. No pairings so far but I'm open to all suggestions.


Okay . . . first off, first story ever, so I'm pretty open to whatever you want to recemend. My OC right now in Soul Eater world before mainstory. No pairings so far, maybe one later. Um . . . yeah . . . I didn't even what to publish this and had a really big debate with myself over it. If anyone reads this thank you very very much and please comment!

* * *

On a cold autumn day a boy sat on a high wall, a precarious perch nearly a mile above the main part of the city. It was only a week or so since his system started and he was "born", but he was nothing like a babe. Critical eyes scanned the world around him as people passed by on a busy street. Small shops and cafes littered the street providing business that ultimately paid Death City's taxes. Shifting hearing the wind did, and motors whined inaudibly to his advanced hearing. Two powerful legs lifted a lean body up and three pairs of solar panels folded and collapsed seamlessly into his back. He looked down at the street again. Eyes and ears picked out a mother and father holding a squealing girl by her small, chubby hands. From the distance he could still make out the smiling faces and laughter as they walked out of a toy store. the boy watches for but a moment, before turning away into the chill and solitude of the Northern Woods. He had 1.58 hours to spend as he wished, as he fulfilled his required six hours of meditation. A command code in the form of radio signals muffled his hearing drastically, so they were on a human level, as he stalked back into the seclusion that defined his life.

* * *

"Hello father," the boy's voice drones automatically as he enters the patchwork house. Where wallpaper pealed new one was placed over and dry-board was in abundance as well. In the living room there is his father working diligently on research for his latest project. What it was exactly, his son was not quite sure. His work relied heavily on funding from the Academy though, and somethings people working or learning there came here.

"Hhmm? Ah yes, how was your day son? Did you decide on a name yet?" the professor asks without looking from his screen.

"My meditation time was well spent but I did not come to any conclusions on the manner of my name yet," he spits out mindlessly.

"Oh really? Pity. You don't have to be so formal, try calling me Dad," he offers swiveling on his chair to face towards his son.

"As you wish Dad," he states firmly, making the simple word a title.

"Okaaaaaay, that didn't work huh? Try Fraken."

"As you w-"

"No, just forget it."

"I will forget the past 1.342 minutes we spent discussing Father," he buzzes. His exhausted parent turns and slams his head on the desk before turning around again.

"What did you learn if you didn't discover your name?"

"The weather patterns today wer-"

"Know what, write your report in your log book and then help me make dinner," he sighed giving the computer screen his attention once more.

The boy walked moderately out of the room though double doors and into a designated room with held a simple mattress, a bed stand with a lamp, a flickering overhead light bulb, a gray desk, a three-legged chair, and a almost empty dresser. The walls would be white, but though half the room was a clean cut that appeared to be stitched together. He boy walked to the dresser and knelled down.

From the bottom drawer he pulled out a plain black cover notebook and a mechanical pencil. He went to his desk and sat in his chair with perfect posture. Pale fingers flipped the cover open. A left hand gripped the pencil and wrote down his "observations" on the free time and meditation time he had. It was mainly composed of the weather, behaviors of people he studied, and a raccoon that kept him company for 35.432 minutes when he visited a small creek in the woods. He finished his writing, placed his notebook and pencil away, and walked to the kitchen. His father wasn't there so he stood and waited for some time. After a significant amount of time he opened the fridge and started to make a stir-fry he knew his father usually made and ate.

After exactly 31.453 minutes he had two plates of food. He picked them up so he held them like a waiter would and advanced into the living room where his father stared at the screen with fingers pounding the keyboard.

"Hm? What dinner but that's in, oh, half an hour ago," he sighs reclining in his chair and stretching his arms back.

"I finished writing the report you asked for 1.013 hours ago, I then waited for-"

"Yes, I understand, try condensing your words so time is rounded please," the boy's father cracks his back, "Thank you for making diner, let's eat then," he took a tray of food and kicked the ground, propelling himself into the kitchen and next to a patchwork gray and grayer table.

"Is it necessary for me to pretend to eat?" the boy asks sitting down on a stool.

"Of course, even if it's not necessary for you, it will be odd to others if you never eat and you will still be able to digest it anyway," he answers before asking "Why?"

"It was on my mind," and that is the last piece of conversation the two share as dinner is eaten and the son excuses himself so he might clean his body. He turns the water on in the shower and efficiently washes himself clean. He then pulls sleep ware onto his body, and lastly brushes his teeth. Leaving the bathroom he walks to his room and lies on his mattress under the covers. His father told him to 'sleep' with the blanket on to appear more human. His last thoughts before he sends his body into a exact eight hours of required rest so his systems could cool down were of 1s and 0s repeated in a pattern in conceivable to even his father. 1s and 0s that made up the world he was brought into and the world that would ultimately end him.


End file.
